Free Storm Maiden by Mary Gillgannon

not reach it with the woman slung over his
shoulder. Releasing his grip of the woman’s thighs, he let her
slide down his body. When he had settled her limp form on the
ground, he pulled out his war axe and brandished it.
    “You seek combat with me, Kalf?”
    The warrior took a step backwards. “You’re
injured, Dag. Sigurd would not wish to return and find me fighting
with his wounded brother.”
    “Neither would Sigurd wish to return and
find you bleeding in the river mud, but it matters not to me.” Dag
shrugged in nonchalance, although the motion pained him dearly. “If
you would keep me off the ship, you must dodge Blooddrinker’s fiery
kiss.”
    Kalf took the measure of the axe’s gleaming
blade, then stepped aside. Dag reslung his axe in his belt and
stooped to pick up the woman. Pain screamed down his body and his
knees nearly buckled, but he managed to heave her over his shoulder
once again. He suppressed a groan and began wading out to the ship.
By the time he reached it, his breath came in gasps and sweat
poured down his forehead.
    He dropped the woman over the side, none too
gently, then dragged his trembling body in after her. The sway of
the ship soothed him, but he still felt sick onto death. For a
moment he lay there, breathing heavily, then he began searching the
hold where the supplies were stored, hunting for a skin of water.
Finding one, he unstoppered it and gulped the contents down. He let
out a deep sigh and lay back in the gently rocking craft.
    He closed his eyes, halfway to oblivion. As
he sank toward sleep, the image of the fairy woman floated before
his eyes. He saw her as she had first come to him, her midnight
hair swirling around her hips, her skin golden in the torchlight,
her face both uncertain and proud.
    With a sigh, he rose from his resting place.
Groping in the darkness, he finally located the woman’s limp form.
He felt for her pulse. The tension in his body eased as he found
it. His hand explored further and found the swelling lump on the
side of her head. His brother had a heavy hand; the woman would
have a fierce headache on the morrow.
    His fingers touched her face, and he
recalled the delicacy of her features. She was like a bird, an
exotic lovely bird. His hand slipped further down, caressing her
slender throat. Her skin was so soft. He could not resist the lure
of her silken warmth. Holding his breath, he allowed his fingers to
glide beneath the woman’s ruined clothing. His hand closed over a
full, lush breast.
    The Goddess Freya, but she was beautiful! He
could not see her, but his fingers experienced her perfection. What
would it be like to lie with her, to feel her fine-boned softness
yielding beneath him? The thought made Dag’s head swim and his body
throb with desire.
    A second later, he pulled his hand away.
Fool! That was the danger of women. Their beauty made a man blind
to their other flaws. Did he not know that they were all vain,
petty and incapable of loyalty? And this woman, she was no
different. She had aided him—her enemy. No matter that she’d saved
his life, he could not help but suspect her motives.
    Dag frowned as he recalled the woman’s rich
attire the first time she’d come to him. Why would a fairborn woman
seek to couple with a prisoner? Unless she meant to defy the man
she belonged to.
    A sense of disgust crept over him, and he
eased farther away from the woman, glad the darkness hid her
extraordinary charms.

Chapter 6
    Fiona woke to shards of light piercing her
skull like a band of nails around her forehead. She lifted her head
and fought back the wave of nausea that threatened to overwhelm
her, then touched her hand to her throbbing temple. She must have
bumped herself there—or been struck. With sudden, awful clarity,
she remembered the huge Viking. She opened her eyes and suppressed
a scream as a vision out of a nightmare swam into view.
    Vikings! She was surrounded by Vikings! A
dozen of them crowded her vision, their huge, sweaty